A Difference
by J9
Summary: Sara wonders if she makes a difference... Warrick provides an answer. (Getting Off post ep, Warrick-Sara friendship)


**Title:** A Difference

**Fandom:** CSI

**Pairing:** Warrick/Sara friendship

**Spoilers:** _Getting Off _post ep

**Rating:** PG

**Word Count: **970

**Notes:** For the LiveJournal Writer's Choice _Anniversary_ challenge. I swear, it's in there somewhere.

Sara sat at the break room table, staring into the cup of coffee she was clutching in her hands. Steam rose from it, and the warmth seeped through the porcelain mug. It should have warmed her hands, but it didn't; they were still cold, even though she'd spent a good five minutes in the bathroom, washing them underneath the hot water tap. Which hadn't helped them feel either warm or clean; she could still feel the touch of Mindy Dupont's skin, paper thin, on her hands. Worse than that though, was the look that had been in the other woman's eyes, that soulless, defeated look that Sara was becoming intimately acquainted with.

It was the same look she saw in the mirror every morning, the one she knew had been on her face when she'd handed her findings to Grissom.

The one she'd been wearing when he'd said words – more words, she noted bitterly – that tore at her heart.

"I haven't seen you for a while, have I?"

Her reply had been truthful, but, if she was honest, designed to sting.

"You see me every day."

And he did, but he didn't, and that was the whole damn problem.

Her thoughts were interrupted when the door behind her opened, but she didn't look around, sure her melancholy would show on her face. She only relaxed when she heard "Hey girl," because there was only one person who would greet her so. Sure enough, it was Warrick who crossed her line of vision, going to the fridge, taking out a can of soda, popping it open as she asked, "You hiding out?"

She shook her head, indicating her cup of coffee. "Refuelling," she told him, and he grinned, taking a swig of his drink.

"Gris told me he had you processing our suspect," he said, his tone, Sara knew at once, too conversational, and she looked down, finding her own reflection in the black coffee, the dark liquid making her eyes look even more shadowed than usual. Maybe that showed in her face, or maybe it was just Warrick being Warrick, but either way, his voice was very soft when he asked, "You ok?"

Forcing a smile to her face, she looked up with a nod. "I'm fine," she told him, and she wondered how many times she could say those words before they came true. "Just… I can't remember the last time I processed someone that fragile." The memory sent a shudder coursing through her; memory, she thought, or the knowledge that that was more honesty than she'd intended to share.

Warrick must have known that too, because he leaned against the counter, did that whole frown and tilt the head thing that he did with her sometimes. "You sure you're ok?"

She shook her head, looking heavenward. "Just one of those days," she said quietly, the words coming without conscious thought. "Where I wonder what the hell we're doing here… if we make any difference at all."

The word hung in the air between them for a long moment, then Warrick spoke. "You do make a difference Sara."

Her lips twisted, and she barely kept back a bitter chuckle. "Sure."

Another silence, and when he spoke again, his voice was light. "You know what day it was last week?" She didn't, replying with a silent quirk of the eyebrow. "My anniversary. Two years."

She had no idea what he meant, even though he seemed to act like she should. "Anniversary?" she echoed, and he nodded.

"Two years ago last week was the last time I walked into a casino and placed a bet." He didn't move from his stance against the counter, and she was all the way across the room at the table, but the molecules of air seemed to realign themselves somehow, pulling them closer to one another. "It was my stumble off the wagon," he continues. "Over a woman… but that doesn't matter. It was the last time. The last time before that? It was when I was playing six hands of Blackjack in a casino on Blue Diamond Road, nearly a year and a half earlier."

The location, the game name, stirred her memory, and she remembered the dust motes drifting, the smell of booze and cigarettes, the anger in his green eyes as she looked down at him.

"It was the day I met you," he continued. "And you investigated me, and you didn't let me bullshit you, and you put in a report that nearly got me fired… and if you hadn't done all that, then God knows where I'd be now… what my life would be like."

Except that she thought different, so she did what they used to do best; disagreed with him. "You got out on your own Warrick," she said, surprised by how hard it was to speak, how hoarse her voice was. "I had nothing to do with it."

"You put me on the road," he disagreed. "And staying on it was a hell of a lot easier when I knew that you'd whup my ass if I stepped out of line." The phrasing made her grin, because she would, and she had, and that's when he moved, walking towards the door, towards her.

"You have made a difference Sara," he told her, pausing as he reached her side, dropping his hand onto her shoulder. "Never doubt that."

Sara didn't look at him; she couldn't. As he made to move his hand though, she reached up, caught his fingers between hers. She squeezed once, a silent thank you, felt the pressure returned before their hands fell and the door closed behind him.

Breathing in deeply, Sara rested her elbows on table, covered her face with her hands, smiling despite herself when she realised something.

Her hands were warm.


End file.
